Lieberman's thief al-4 Read online

  "Rozier?" he asked.

  Rozier, a slick, dark green hooded specter, glided forward toward the obviously frightened man.

  George took a step back. A horse kicked the ground nervously and the cows mooed madly.

  "I've got the money," Harvey said softly.

  "You won't hear from me again," said George. "I promise. This isn't the start of blackmail or anything. I just need enough to get away."

  "You won't come back and you won't talk?" asked Rozier sincerely.

  "What have I got to talk about?" George said.

  "About what you saw in my kitchen."

  "I'm willing to forget you killed her," George said.

  "I don't know, George," Rozier said, moving another step toward the thief. "You saw me commit murder. Who knows what you might try to bargain for if you get picked up one night when you break into a house?"

  "I wouldn't do that," George said, taking his hands from his pockets. "Why would I? How could I explain my not telling anyone before? I'd be an accessory. I swear. You're safe."

  "I believe you," said Rozier with a sigh. "You can't blame me for being a little edgy."

  "No," said George. "Look, how about you give me the money and the toolbox and I'm gone?"

  "They're in the trunk of my car. Out on the street. You'll have to get a little wet, but the compensation is worth it."

  "The trunk of your car?" asked George suspiciously. "I think maybe I'd rather just stay here and you go get it."

  "Someone might walk in," said Rozier.

  "I'll take the chance. Someone comes and we move somewhere else and make the deal."

  "I don't think I want to take the chance, George," Rozier said, moving toward George.

  Harvey was sure he was close enough to catch the thief if he turned and tried to run. He fingered the crowbar in his pocket through his tight glove and decided to move quickly, strike hard, be sure the thief was dead, drop the crowbar, rifle the man's pockets, and run into the rain. Worst case? Someone would see a man in a raincoat and hood running away from the zoo. The raincoat would go in the nearest trash bin and Harvey would walk to Rush Street and catch a cab before anyone had time to report the murder, even if they had witnessed it.

  "Don't do this, Mr. Rozier," George pleaded, seeing the crowbar come out of Rozier's pocket.

  The cows were bellowing now, and both horses were scraping their hooves against the cement under the hay in their pens.

  "No choice, George," he said, ready to leap as George's eyes darted around the barn looking for somewhere to jump.

  Rozier stepped forward, crowbar over his head, as George tried to cover himself.

  "He's gonna kill me," George screamed as a voice from the doorway called, "Harvey."

  Harvey Rozier turned. Lieberman stood in the doorway, his hands in his coat pocket.

  "You think you for Chrissake waited long enough?" George wept, his back pressed against the wooden wall, his breath coming in short spurts.

  Rozier turned to George Patniks. Behind the thief in the only other entrance to the building stood Hanrahan and a uniformed cop in a slicker.

  "This man killed Dana," Rozier said, pointing at Patniks. "He called me, said he wanted to turn himself in. I went crazy. I decided to come here and kill him."

  "Drop the crowbar and we'll go someplace warm and dry and talk about it," said Lieberman.

  Rozier turned to face the detective.

  The animals were in a panic now.

  "Believe me, Lieberman," Rozier said, pulling down his hood to show a sincere, grief-stricken face.

  "We heard you talking to Mr. Patniks," Hanrahan said.

  Rozier turned to face him. The policemen were moving toward him.

  "Heard every word," said Lieberman.

  "I didn't recognize him in the lineup because he changed the color of his hair," said Rozier. "His hair was red when he came to my door and he had a mustache."

  "And you never let him in and you never hid his toolbox?" asked Hanrahan. "And you just confessed to murdering your wife to trap him?"

  "Yes," said Rozier. "Yes."

  "Well, we'll play the tape back," said Lieberman over the bellowing of the animals, "but I don't think anyone's going to believe it. Officer, read Mr. Rozier his rights and we'll take him somewhere where he can see some of George's artwork. I think one painting will be particularly interesting to you."

  As Hanrahan moved forward past George Patniks, the patrolman began to read Rozier his rights. Harvey could see the man's mouth moving but the cacophony of animal sounds and battering rain drowned him into vague sounds.

  "I want my lawyer," said Rozier indignantly.

  "No problem," said Lieberman, now only a few yards away. "You can call Mr. Franklin before we start talking at the station. We'll give him our evidence and have him listen to the tape and then we'll leave you alone to decide on your legal action. Unless you've got more to say before you talk to Mr. Franklin, all we have to add is that you are under arrest for the murder of Dana Louise Roberts Rozier."

  Rozier started to raise the crowbar and took a step toward Lieberman. Lieberman took his hand out of his pocket and aimed his weapon at Rozier's stomach.

  "It's noisy in here," Lieberman said loudly. "Just drop the crowbar now and we'll go somewhere quiet."

  Rozier dropped the crowbar. The clank of iron against cement startled the animals into silence.

  Evening Tides

  Simon, the Franklins' favorite waiter in the dining room of the Winnetka Harbor Club, saw Ken coming and hurried to usher him to the table where his wife was waiting.

  Ken Franklin was late.

  At their usual table near the window overlooking the lake, Betty sat playing with a drink, probably Scotch and whatever she could think of. Her eyes were unfocused, staring into the darkness coming over the horizon.

  "Sorry I'm late," Ken said as Simon held the chair out for him and he sat.

  The crowd was light for a Friday night but it was still on the early side. A few tables away the Pines were already into their soup and beyond them Marjorie and Thomas Benson were entertaining an old woman Ken did not recognize.

  Old, however, had become a relative term.

  "I'll have-" Ken began.

  "Mrs. Franklin has already ordered your drink," Simon said with a smile. "Vodka gimlet"

  Ken nodded and examined his wife. Tired, shoulders bare and sagging, wearing Ken's favorite blue silk dress. Hair clean, white, and impeccable.

  She looked at her husband, chewed on her lower lip for an instant and said, "What happened?"

  There were bread sticks on the table. Ken took one, cracked it in half, and put it on the white tablecloth in front of him.

  "I will not be representing Harvey on the criminal charges the state's attorney has brought against him."

  "Oh," said Betty.

  "Would you like to know why I will not be representing Harvey? There are four reasons."

  "Yes," she said softly.

  "First, the police have considerable evidence, including a taped conversation and an eyewitness. There are ways to deal with both and other, more circumstantial, evidence, but I am convinced that Harvey murdered Dana."

  They went silent as Simon placed the vodka gimlet in front of Ken and waited for Ken to taste it. He did and nodded his approval. Only then did Simon place the menus before them.

  "Would you like to order or would you like awhile longer?"

  "Give us five minutes, would you, Simon?"

  "Of course."

  And Simon disappeared.

  "Second," said Ken after a substantial drink from his glass, "I am sure whoever his attorney is, and I have recommended Lon Saunders, Harvey will plead not guilty. With delays and appeals if he is found guilty, the judicial process will take at least two years. As you know, it is unlikely that I will be alive in two years."

  Betty said nothing but her eyes were definitely moist "Is that your first drink of the evening?" her husband asked.

  "No
, my third."

  "The third reason I wifl not be defending Harvey is that you and I are certain to be called as witnesses by the prosecution."

  "For the prosecution?" Betty asked.

  "Yes. That brings us to the fourth reason I will not be defending Harvey. His motive. The police believe that Harvey killed Dana so that he could marry you when I die and have access to both my money and yours. Would you like another drink? I don't see anything in your glass but a very small cube."

  "Yes, thank you," she said, and Ken turned to the waiting Simon halfway across the room. Ken pointed to his wife's empty glass and Simon nodded in understanding and moved toward the bar.

  "Do you believe that?" Betty asked.

  "Believe that Harvey would do that? Yes. Do I believe the obvious companion thought, that you and he have been having an affair, yes, but it doesn't matter. You will be questioned and you will have to testify under oath."

  "I can't," she sobbed.

  "We're going to have enough to deal with without you falling apart in public," he said, glancing toward the Bensons' table to see if they had observed Betty's loss of control. They hadn't or they were too polite to let it show. There were going to be many moments like this over the coming months.

  "I'm sorry," she said, wiping her eyes as Simon approached with a fresh drink, placed it before her, and moved quickly away.

  "Elizabeth," Ken said, "if my feelings were of real concern to you, you would have waited till I was gone to make a fool of yourself. Do you actually believe that Harvey Rozier is in love with you?"

  "Yes," she said.

  "Then there isn't anything more to say," Kenneth Franklin said, motioning to Simon, who glided to their table.

  "Yes, Mr. Franklin."

  "We'll both have the Norwegian salmon, broiled. And remind Andre that we like it with a crisp glaze. It was firm last time but not crisp."

  "Of course," Simon said. "House salad?"

  "Yes," said Ken, smiling at his wife across the table. "And Mrs. Franklin may want still another drink. She seems to have finished the one you just brought."

  Chuculo Fernandez stood in the lobby of the Clark Street Station looking less like a man who was about to be free than a man who had been seriously wronged.

  "Viejo," said El Perro, "Piedras is out in the car. You want to come out, say hello, somethin'?"

  "No, give him my best," said Lieberman.

  Piedras was a great, hulking, brainless creature with none of El Perm's affection for the old detective.

  Officer Catherine Boyd was behind the desk writing something. Nestor Briggs had finished a double shift and gone home, at least for awhile. Odds were good that Nestor would wander back to the station in street clothes to talk to Catherine for awhile.

  "Not much business tonight," El Perro observed, looking around.

  "The rain," Lieberman explained. "Keeps people indoors. Drop in most crimes except murder. Murder, in bars, domestic, goes up when it rains. Keeps people indoors and irritable."

  "No shit?" said El Perro. "You know that, Chuculo?"

  Chuculo Fernandez nodded his head. El Perro's right hand shot out and slapped the young man's face, distorting it like an astronaut rocketing into space.

  "Emiliano-" Lieberman said as Catherine Boyd looked up from her report.

  "Chuculo should show some respect," El Perro said. "For you, for me."

  Fernandez had cut at least six people Lieberman knew of and had almost surely killed two others. His eyes were stung and watering and he did not look as if he wanted to kill anyone.

  "Despenseme," he said. "I'm sorry."

  "Apology accepted," said Lieberman.

  "I think maybe the rain's good for bingo," said El Perro. "What you think? Nothing to do but fuck, watch the TV, or go out and play bingo."

  "It is beyond my expertise," said Lieberman.

  "How come you never come to my bingo parlor? It's all legal."

  "I know."

  "You know, I figured something out," El Perro whispered, putting an arm around Lieberman's thin shoulders. "You don't need that B-I-N-G-O shit You just like say cinco, five. You find a five someplace else besides under B and I have Chuculo eat your dirty underwear."

  "The prospect of Chuculo eating my dirty underwear will probably lead me to a futile search for N-5."

  "I don' know what the fuck you're talking about half the time, Viejo, but I like you. Hey, your esposa, she's the queen something of your church, right?"

  "The president," Lieberman corrected.

  "She wanna use my bingo parlor for to raise money for the church, I give you a free night and I call the numbers myself. No letters."

  "I'll discuss it with her."

  "Lieberman," said El Perro. "You're good like your word. You got something you need, another deal, you know where to find me."

  "I know, Emiliano," said Lieberman.

  "An' you, Chuculo," El Perro said, turning to Fernandez, who held his ground, expecting another slap or worse. "Maybe this will teach you not to fuck with no fuckin' little girls."

  "Si," Fernandez said.

  "Let's go."

  Both Lieberman and Chuculo Fernandez shared a feeling mat Chuculo had a long night ahead of him.

  "Drive carefully," Lieberman said as El Perro pushed Fernandez toward the door.

  "Inside the speed limit, siempre" said El Perro and went out the front door with a laugh, saying to Fernandez, "You hear that? The man's got a sense of humor."

  The death of lago Simms and the wounding of Officer Guy Matthews belonged to Applegate and Acardo. They had taken delivery of Lonny Wayne from the Tentaculos, booked him, and read him his rights before taking him to the emergency room.

  There would be another lineup later that night if Lonny Wayne wasn't hospitalized. Jacob Berry, who had already been released on bond, would sit behind the window and be asked to identify Lonny, who no longer looked like the Lonny who had attempted to rob him that morning. This was a one-eared Lonny Wayne, a much older Lonny Wayne.

  It was almost six. The sun was going down fast. Lieberman called a good night to Catherine Boyd and hurried out the door. It was Shabbat, the Sabbath, and Lieberman was late. Maish and Yetta would be coming too, at least for dinner. Abe had invited Hanrahan to join him and his family and to bring Iris, but he had declined, saying he had someone he had to talk to.

  It was still raining.

  Hanrahan sat in the booth of the Black Moon Restaurant across from Iris Chen's father. Iris was waiting on tables and being careful not to glance at their booth. In the kitchen, Iris's uncle Chou, called out of retirement for the night, was cooking and frantically filling orders, all of which challenged his arthritic fingers.

  "Look at it this way, Mr. Chen," Hanrahan said, hands folded on the table in front of him. "If Iris wants to marry me and doesn't, how is she going to feel? Who is she going to blame?"

  Chen looked at him and allowed only an involuntary blink in reply.

  "I don't drink anymore and I won't again. My divorce is final. I earn a good living, have a decent house, and I love Iris. Do you know what the other policemen call us? Iris and Irish? We've even got nicknames. A perfect couple."

  Chen said nothing.

  Dishes clanked. People at other tables talked. The kitchen door swung open and closed.

  "I love her," Hanrahan said. "But she's not going to marry me unless you tell her it's all right."

  "It is all right," Chen said finally, softly. "If Iris want, it is all right."

  "I'll talk to Mr. Woo again," Hanrahan said, holding back a grin. "I'll explain."

  "Don't need talk to Mr. Woo," said Chen.

  "Listen," Hanrahan went on. "I know you're close to Mr. Woo and you don't want to upset him, but-"

  Chen said something quickly, probably hi Chinese.

  "Mr. Woo don't like it, he can sit on the toilet with a monkey," Chen said. "It is something we say in Chinese."

  "I'll remember," Hanrahan said.

  "This is America,
not China," Chen said, easing out of the booth. "You hungry?"

  "Starving," said Hanrahan, smiling at Iris, who met his eyes across the room.

  "We got special tonight," Chen said and hurried toward the kitchen. "You'll like."

  Lieberman walked through his front door just before six-thirty and was met by his wife with, "Services are at eight. Maish and Yetta are late. We have to eat. You need a shave, and a lawyer named Seymour Greenblatt is sitting in the kitchen talking to Melisa and Barry. Put your gun in the drawer and get rid of Greenblatt. You can shave later."

  He kissed her and she smiled. She was wearing the green dress, the one she had bought for her cousin Dorothy's daughter's wedding.

  "You look great," he said, and meant it.

  Beyond the living room Lieberman could see the dining room table set for seven.

  "Lisa's not here yet either. Her car had a flat tire. Maish and Yetta are helping her fix it"

  "The kids know about Lisa going to San Francisco without them?"

  "They know. Barry asked if he could have his mother's room and Melisa said she didn't want to go to Saa Francisco in six months or ever because they gaze at you and give you AIDS," Bess said.

  " 'They gaze at you and give you AIDS'?"

  "Gays, Lieberman. She's smart but she's eight. You'd better talk to her."

  Lieberman moved across the room, saying, "I'll talk to her. Maybe we should skip services tonight?"

  "Lieberman," Bess said behind him. "I'm the president of the temple."

  "What does the legendary Lawyer Greenblatt want?" asked Lieberman, moving toward the bedroom.

  "To talk to us both."

  "You brought the check back to Rabbi NathansonT "I wanted it back in their hands today, so I handed it to his wife right after lunch," said Bess. "I'm going to check the food. Lieberman, a small helping of meat and no wine."

  And Bess bustled off.

  Lieberman took off his jacket and removed his holster and gun, putting them inside the night table drawer and locking the drawer with the key he wore around his neck. He wanted to shave but he wanted to have it out with Lawyer Greenblatt first When he opened the door to the kitchen, he found his grandchildren seated at the kitchen table looking at an overweight man with several strands of hair brushed over his bald head. In front of the man, who wore a sport jacket and suspenders, lay a briefcase amid the bowls of food.